The city never really went quiet, but my apartment tried its best. Thin walls muffled the hum of traffic into something dull and constant, like a bad radio station stuck between channels. A leaky faucet in the bathroom tapped out an uneven rhythm. Someone upstairs argued with their television.
It wasn't much, but it was mine.
I shut the door behind me and slid the bolt into place, leaning my forehead against the peeling wood for a long moment. My hands were still shaking, the knife in my pocket still sticky with blood.
The wolf's eyes wouldn't leave me.
I tossed the knife into the sink and watched water run over it until the pink swirls disappeared down the drain. Then I scrubbed my hands raw, as if the hunters' touch might still cling to me.
But no amount of soap could wash away the memory of that look. Not wild. Not feral. A look that understood me.
"Coincidence," I muttered to the cracked mirror above the sink. "Just some random wolf that wandered into the city. Sure. Happens all the time."
The mirror didn't buy it. Neither did I.
I crossed the tiny room, passing the sagging couch and the chipped coffee table to the corner where my bed waited. The framed photo sat on the nightstand, catching the glow of the single lamp.
Travis, with his crooked smile and messy hair, one arm looped around me. I traced the outline of his face with my finger, the glass cool beneath my skin.
"You'd laugh at me," I whispered. "Talking to a damn wolf."
The photo, of course, didn't answer.
I pulled the battered notebook from beneath the pillow and set it in my lap. The cover was worn soft, edges curled, pages stuffed with Travis's messy handwriting. His thoughts, his theories, his warnings. The last thing he gave me before the hunters took him away.
I flipped to a blank page, the pen trembling in my fingers, and began to write.
September, Year One without you.
I should be dead tonight. Again. Hunters found me. Three this time, smarter than the last. They almost had me cornered. I don't even know why I'm still breathing right now. Maybe luck. Maybe something else.
The wolf was there. The same one. Black fur, eyes like shadows that see too much. It saved me. Not the first time either. And I can't figure out why. Wolves don't save vampires. Wolves kill vampires. It should've attacked me just as easily as it went after them.
But it didn't. It looked at me. Like it knew me. Like it was waiting for something. That scares me more than the hunters do.
I paused, chewing the end of the pen. My handwriting looked jagged, desperate. I pressed on anyway.
I don't want to believe in signs. Not anymore. Not after losing you. Every time I thought fate was on my side, it proved me wrong. You're not here. And no wolf or shadow is going to fix that. Still… it's hard to ignore what I saw.
Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe I'm making monsters into heroes because I miss you too much. Or maybe it's worse—that something bigger is hunting me, and the wolf is just the beginning.
The pen slipped from my fingers, leaving a dark blot of ink on the page. My throat tightened, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I pressed my face into the notebook, breathing in the faint, familiar scent of Travis that still lingered on its pages.
"I wish you were here," I whispered. "You'd know what to do. You always knew."
The city outside honked and wailed and muttered, uncaring.
I curled onto my side, clutching the notebook to my chest. The framed photo glowed faintly in the lamplight, Travis's smile frozen in time. I closed my eyes, listening to the thud of my heart, the drip of the faucet, the buzz of the streetlight outside the window.
Sleep didn't come easy. It never did. But when it finally dragged me under, my dreams were a tangled mess of shadows and teeth.
The hunters' bolts whistling past. Travis's voice fading. The wolf's eyes locking with mine—dark, endless, and knowing.
When I jolted awake, the lamp was still on. My notebook lay open on the bed, the ink dried into shaky lines.
And on the windowsill, faint against the dust, was a paw print.